


Once Upon a Loop

by Quiet_Shadow



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Bilbo, Bilbo is pretty tired of it, Frying Pan of Doom, Gen, Out of Character, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 10:03:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2344388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_Shadow/pseuds/Quiet_Shadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There were times, Bilbo Baggins thought as he opened his eyes and looked at the familiar ceiling of Bag End, where waking up like that was starting to get old. Very old. And annoying as hell, if he wanted to be honest and not proper.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or: the fic where Bilbo keeps reliving the journey to Erebor, and isn't exactly happy about it, or with some of Thorin's decisions in the last Loop. Time to bring out the Frying Pan...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon a Loop

**Author's Note:**

> Just a weird idea I had, after rereading some time-loops fics for varioous fandom. Can you tell I'm not Thorin's biggest fan?  
> Anyway, enjoy! <3

There were times, Bilbo Baggins thought as he opened his eyes and looked at the familiar ceiling of Bag End, where waking up like that was starting to be old. Very old. And annoying as hell, if he wanted to be honest and not proper.

How many times had it been already? Thirty? Thirty-one? He was starting to lose the count, which was another problem in itself. If his memories started to betray him, then he’d had no way to keep a proper timeline in his head. He needed to go get a new notebook and fill it down with what he remembered from his previous experiences as soon as possible. Hmm, perhaps he could borrow one of Ori’s? The scribe of the Company never said ‘no’, if asked nicely.

Speaking of the Company…

“You alright there, Mister Baggins?”

Bilbo glanced to his left, where a smiling dwarf with a funny hat was looking at him, the barest hint of concern in his eyes. The others were still too ensconced in their feast or talk to really notice the hobbit who was ‘generously providing them with a meal and shelter’ had just stayed immobile for several moments after almost tumbling to the floor. Mr Baggins was aware that Gandalf’s eyes were on him too, but he cared not; let the wizard think whatever he wanted, it wasn't the hobbit’s main concern at the moment.

Bilbo just smiled. “I’m very well, Master Bofur. Just the… merriment coming to me. I’m afraid I was overwhelmed for a few moments. Not used to have so many people at once here, you see,” he lied easily. It wasn’t his best one, and frankly, Bilbo found it a bit weak, but the dwarf seemed to take it at face value and nodded.

“Do you want something to drink? You might fill better after that,” he offered, already reaching for a pint of beer to hand their host.

Bilbo calmly and nicely stopped him, arguing he wasn’t thirsty, that everything was alright, and that he would retire to the kitchen for now, where he would take a glass of water and perhaps clean his face with cold water.

It wasn’t as if it was a lie, exactly; Bilbo did intend to drink and wash his face. But he also intended to do something else entirely as well, he thought as he watched the various members of the Company surrounding his dining room’s table. Hmm, Bofur, Bifur, Bombur, there was Oin and Gloin, Kili and Fili laughing, Dori speaking quietly with Ori and trying to make him eat more carrots, Nori who was trying to also push his own vegetables in their directions, Balin and Dwalin… Bilbo frowned for a moment. Where was…?

Ah. Yes, they were one short, one Bilbo still had to greet. It seemed like he had… come back a little earlier than usual. Well, that wouldn’t do! The Master of Bag End intended to do so very personally and very specially -- especially after last time fiasco. And the kitchen was just the right place to prepare.

***-*-*-*-***

“Axe or sword, what's your weapon of choice?”

Bilbo smiled wickedly at the question. “Frying pans,” he informed Thorkin Oakenshield, leader of the Company, future King Under the Mountain and royal pain in the backside as he reached behind his back, for the ustensile he had managed to slip out of the kitchen earlier and sort-of hide by the door.

Thorin blinked. “Fr…?”

CLANG!

Thirteen pairs of eyes watched him in disbelief as he brought the frying pan down on Thorin Oakenshield’s head, smiling widely at the sound of metal hitting a far-too-hard head, and wondering if the hit would finally be enough to knock some thought or, better yet, some manner into that prideful, headstrong, unsuffering dwarf. Meh. Probably not. There were probably miracles too big for the Gods to pull, and teaching Thorin Oakenshield’s common sense and the art of not insulting someone offering him hospitality was one of those.

It was, however, very good for Bilbo’s nerves. He turned the frying pan in his hands with a merry whistle. He loved that pan; sturdy, but not too heavy, you just knew it would hit a skull without bending in the process, which was definitely appreciable in an improvised weapon. A frying pan in risk of bending was just useless. This one, however, was not: the handle felt nice in his hand, and it made just the most beautiful sounds when hitting it’s mark -- and you could cook a mean omelette in it while you were at it. He’d have to thank Hamfast Gamgee for that one; the gardener had offered it to him a while ago in thank for… Bilbo had forgotten. But the gift had been appreciated, and even more so now.

Forget swords and axes and whatnots; frying pans were far, far more useful, and nobody expected you to use one as a club. The dwarves never did, anyway, judging from the shocked look on their face as some of them rose from their seats, though from the look on their face, it was by pure automatism. Bilbo almost snorted; Bomfur used a soup ladle as a weapon! Surely, a frying pan wasn’t out of the question for them? Then again, the shock was probably more at seeing the little hobbit he was downing their King with said frying pan than at the actual use of the pan itself.

Gandalf hadn’t moved and now looked at Bilbo with a strange expression. Bilbo gave him a wry look; what had the wizard expected, exactly? Of course, Bilbo knew he was acting very unhobbit-like, but he had excuses!

Granted, Dwalin and a good part of the Company would probably try and kill him the moment the shock settled in and they realized that the soft, inoffensive-looking hobbit had just assaulted their King, without letting him explain said reasons and excuses but really, in Bilbo’s mind? It was totally worth it.

He looked at the dwarf King again. Hmm, from the looks of it, he was going to have a nice headache to go along with that bump once he woke up. Tss. Bilbo wasn’t going to care; not after that, thank to Mister Oakenshield’s pride and a mix of (mis)fortune, they had ended up skipping up Rivendell during their last attempt at conquering Erebor.

Now, Bilbo was growing used to the whole ‘dying and waking up on the night the Company arrived on his doorstep’ thing, even if he didn’t understand why it happened or why he was the only one who seemed to relive the events again and again. He was becoming more and more used to travelling, and he didn’t forgot his handkerchief or complain about almost as often anymore. Riding was becoming easier, so did walking all day long, camping out under the stars and eating only three to four meager meals a day.

BUT! He certainly felt strongly about ignoring Elrond’s hospitality, especially when it brought them good meals, pleasant company, a good shelter with soft sheets and a comfortable bed, and a library full of books he wanted to study, if only because there may have been something in there on how to actually kill a dragon without getting killed yourself!

Add to that that, due to not stopping at Rivendell, Azog and his orcs had caught up with them earlier and slaughtered them… Yeah, getting stabbed through the stomach by an orc was one more way Bilbo could cross out of his list of ‘possible ways to die on this endless journey’, he thought dejectedly for a second, rubbing his belly in remembrance. So really, who could blame him about actually hitting the one dwarf he held responsible for that disaster? It wasn’t as if screaming at him ‘I told you so!’ would work, given Bilbo was always the only one remembering anything and everything.

Including falling down the edge during the Stone Giants’ battle. Getting mauled by a Warg. Getting eaten by a Troll. Getting incinerated by a Dragon -- on that note, Bofur hadn’t be wrong; flash of light and searing pain indeed. Bilbo hardly had had the time to feel anything before waking up in Bag End again. There was also the one time Thorin had offended Beorn and the furious skinchanger had accidentally hit in him the melee, throwing him against a wall. Oh, and how to forget the one time with Thranduil, a sword and Thorin’s short temper thrown into the mix! Granted, the elf wasn’t exactly aiming at him; more like, he had been aiming at Thorin, who had ducked, and Bilbo… hadn’t. That took care of ‘decapitation’ on his death list, too.

Sometimes, Bilbo wondered if he was still sane. It just wasn’t healthy, he knew, to keep reliving through events that always ended with oneself in mortal perils, got you killed more often than not if he didn’t directly kill someone else, and having yet to find a way to make it go alright. Aside of, perhaps, tying up and sitting on some of the Company’s members to protect them from terminal cases of stupidity, but there was only a single him, and thirteen dwarves -- and a wizard that seemed to disappear whenever Bilbo could truly have used his help.

But, healthy or not, it wasn’t exactly as if he had a choice, was it?

Staying behind in Bag End instead of joining the Company made the whole ‘lives’ restart immediately. And… well, he did promise to help them, and Bilbo Baggins always kept his promises. For all he was ticked at them at time, and ticked at the rather creative ways they managed to get him and them killed, they were his friends. It didn’t meant that sometimes, he didn’t wish to strangle them himself.

So… well, he relieved his growing tension whenever and however he could. Like right now. Or that time he had almost stabbed Nori through the hand when the dwarf’s sticky fingers had come a little too close to his silver spoons -- if he hadn’t noticed, he supposed he would have ended up blaming one of the Sackville-Baggins for the thievery, and never see his spoons again. Dori’s face when he did, then the lecture he gave his younger brother for trying to steal from their host, had been almost priceless. Though it had nothing on the one time he had somehow, miraculously, managed to take Lobelia Sackville-Baggins on the quest with them. That one ‘life’ had been short, but oh-so entertaining; so much sparks flying, and he had never thought Thorin’s face could become so red…

Hmm, perhaps he ought to try it again; if anything, it wouldn’t be boring, and it’d give him a break.

Turning toward his guests with a large smile, he pointed at the passed-out form of the Company’s leader. “He,” said with an air of finality that broke no argument, “had totally it coming.”

And if any member of the Company’s had chipped even a single piece of his mother’s fine china -- again, he might add, as their improvised song and jugglery number had sometimes ended in disaster for one reason or another --, then they too would have it coming...


End file.
